“Yes, Majesty,” said Catherine, sinking into a deep curtsey.
“Good. Arundel!”
“Majesty?” said the earl, scrambling to his feet and bowing.
“Cease sniveling into that handkerchief and escort us to our chamber.”
As soon as they were alone in the anteroom, Catherine ran into Brand’s open arms with a small cry, clasping him so tightly he groaned.
“No!” she said, belatedly remembering. “Your back. I’m so sorry.”
“Sure I’ll survive. And I can think of several ways you could make it up to me.”
Her cheeks burned. “Well, no one needs a bath more than you. Let us hope your father’s ship contains an entire hold of lye soap.”
“That scold again! At least you hold no comb to throw today.”
Catherine hesitated, biting her lip. “Do…do you truly wish to wed me?”
“I must insist. For I have no chance of joy or contentment in my life without you in it. You are…dawn after the longest night.”
“Brand.”
“Besides, I have no desire to be whipped for fornication every other day.”
“Oh you!” she gasped, giggling for the first time in what felt like eternity. Until he took her hands in his and kissed each one, silencing her with the intensity of his gaze.
“Marry me, Catherine Mary Linwood. Wed me, love me, and I should be the happiest man in England…and er, France.”
Bliss overwhelmed her, and she went up on her toes to brush his lips with hers.
“I will. And I do. Forever.”
Epilogue
November 17, 1558, West Berkshire
“The queen is dead. Long live the queen!”
The hoarse cry of the exhausted herald echoed through the village square, but none who heard the words were surprised. After her second false pregnancy Mary had fallen ill, and Lucas’s last letter from London where he now resided with the Dudley family, indicated she’d barely left her rooms in months. Indeed, that was the reason he and Carey dared come home to England, discreetly returning aboard a merchant ship two weeks previously.
Brand glanced down at his wife, but she seemed to be accepting of the news.
“All right, Lady FitzAlan?”
She turned and smiled at him. “Yes and no. Mary did me great kindnesses and a great harm. But because of her I found you, so I do mourn her passing. And I believe, yes I do think Elizabeth will be a good queen. More tolerant of religion at least.”
“Lucas is already establishing himself as a favorite of hers. I’ve heard it from several people, even Arundel. Quite how, I’m unsure. Especially with his ceaseless chatter and habit of name-shortening.”
Carey’s eyes widened in horror. “Please don’t tell me he calls the new Queen of England, Lizzie.”
His lips twitched. “Bess. Because Elizabeth is far too long a name for a fifteen year old to remember, don’t you know.”
“That boy!”
“I know,” he said mildly, too content with life to worry further about Lucas and his leaps from one outrageous matter to the next. “But we should be getting home. Mother is coming over from the cottage with a new tapestry to show off, and naturally I wish to order supper before the roar of your growling stomach frightens the neighbors…ow.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, was that your foot?” she said, very sweetly as they passed several shops and the smithy. “But it is imperative you feed me.”
“Really? Why is that? You wish to drag me into yet another darkened alcove? Have mercy, my lady, I’m an old man. I need a little recovery time, at least.”
“Perhaps later. I require food to ensure the child I carry is born strong and healthy.”
Brand stilled, swallowing hard against a rush of powerful elation. “A baby?”
“Well, yes. When you constantly make love to your wife in alcoves and meadows, on desks and carpets, even in an actual bed, it happens. He or she will be born sometime in the spring, I think. Are you pleased?”
He leaned down and captured her lips with his, while one hand rested on her still-flat belly. “I am at once thrilled and excited and anxious.”
“As am I. But my father safely delivered many babies, and I feel…I feel he will watch over me and ensure all will be well.”
Nodding solemnly, he scooped Carey into his arms and turned down the beaten path to their charming red-brick manor, with its lush fields, colorful gardens, and single orchard.
A home. Love. In time, a child.
All he desired and more.
Acknowledgments
A special thank you and non-awkward bear hug to Jackie Ashenden for friendship and support, editor Kate Brauning for margin smiley faces and a truckload of good points, and the Ferners for the cheers and, er, helpful suggestions. You guys rock.
About the Author
Nicola Davidson worked for many years in communications and marketing as well as television and print journalism, but hasn’t looked back since she decided writing wicked historical romance was infinitely more fun. When not chained to a computer she can be found ambling along one of New Zealand’s beautiful beaches, cheering on the champion All Blacks rugby team, history geeking on the internet, or daydreaming. If this includes chocolate—even better!
Keep up with Nicola’s news on Twitter, Facebook (Nicola Davidson – Author) or her website www.nicola-davidson.com
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